Shutter Speed
by IllustratedGirl
Summary: How we perceive the flow of time is almost never the way that time actually moves. And now, for the warnings. Character death, whump!Mike, -am I using that right?- perhaps triggers, all tailing into a nice piece of cotton candy. Get it? It's fluffy.


Not mine. Sadface.

_Author's Note: Heeeello again! This is the oneshot I mentioned and will stay a oneshot. I hope you like it. As I mentioned in the summary, it might be a little trigger-y, and there is a character death, so watch your step, as it were. It may also be a little fluffy._

_ In other news, I heard mention of need for an epilogue to Sometimes the Lies. We'll see about that. Lemme have another beer and decide if I feel like writing porn. I'll get back to ya. (But thank you to everyone that reviewed. Y'all are so sweet.)_

_I do not currently have any ideas for further fics, but if there's a prompt you'd like me to write, send me a message and I'll see what I can do. Of course, there is a new episode tonight (Just caught the preview again. Naughty Harvey, what did you do? Even Donna looks shocked!) so we'll see how that inspires me._

_Anyway, I'll stop rambling. Enjoy!_

* * *

Harvey was annoyed.

When he had strolled up to Mike's cubicle exactly one minute and twenty eight seconds before, he had assumed that Mike would immediately end his phone call and snap to attention as he should.

Instead Mike stayed on the line, nodding dumbly as if the person on the other end could see him and saying things like "No, I understand." And "Thank you for letting me know." And then finally "I'll be there as soon as I can."

When Mike finally hung up, Harvey launched into the diatribe he'd spent the last one minute and fifty two seconds preparing.

"When I walk up to this desk, Mike, I expect any and all work that you aren't doing _for me_ to be dropped instantly. I am your number one priorit- Where the hell do think you're going?"

Harvey hadn't noticed Mike standing and shoving things into his messenger bag until the kid nearly ran Harvey flat in his haste to get to the elevators.

"I gotta go," Mike mumbled, trying to wiggle his arm out of Harvey's grip.

"I gathered that. I asked _where_, and why exactly you think I'm going to let you leave your desk in the middle of the day?" Harvey's voice glinted dangerously, but Mike forged recklessly ahead.

"Let me go!" Mike wrenched his arm and managed to free it, "I said I gotta go!"

Mike attempted to push past Harvey again, but there were many, many things Harvey knew how to do quite effectively, and blocking the plate was one of them.

They had the attention of half the bullpen now, and Louis was poking his ever rat-like head out of his office to see what was going on.

"And I said," Harvey's voice was low and hard, "Where?"

Harvey was beyond annoyed now. He thought the edges of his vision might actually be graying in anger. Is this what people meant when they talked about a rage blackout?

"Take your overpriced shiny suit and get out of my goddamn way, Harvey!" Mike hissed, crossing his arms over his chest before Harvey could grab him again.

Harvey did him one better. He grasped a solid handful of the tousled hair on the back of Mike's head and yanked his head backward, a thumb dragging up one of Mike's eyelids.

"What are you on?" Harvey demanded, inspecting Mike's eyes.

Mike lost it. As if telling Harvey to get out of his goddamn way wasn't losing it.

"Nothing you self entitled sonofabitch!" Mike shouted, wrestling himself free again, "My fucking grandmother died, so would you mind taking your ridiculous two hundred dollar hair cut and getting the FUCK out of my way?"

Something flicked in Harvey's eyes as he stared at Mike for one heartbeat, two, and then he had Mike's arm again, dragging him through the bullpen, past a flabbergasted Louis, and into his office.

Donna wisely flipped her intercom off, knowing she'd probably be able to hear Harvey as it was.

She was wrong.

Harvey's voice was so quiet, Mike had to strain to catch his words.

"I can appreciate that you've had a shock," Harvey murmured, "But if you ever speak to me or _anyone else_ in this building like that again, I will fire you and strip your life of any and all meaning so fast security won't even have made it up to fetch you yet. Do you understand me?"

Mike did not reply.

"I said _do you. understand me?_" Harvey growled in a tone that Mike had not been aware human beings were capable of producing.

"Yes," Mike breathed, his heart thumping in his chest. The full weight of his major lapse in judgment and self control began to pierce the protective layer of shock. Mike waited for Harvey's next move. Seeing as he had never done anything so utterly insane before, Mike was not sure how Harvey would address it.

"Go." Harvey waved a hand almost carelessly. Mike stared, bemused.

"Go, Mike. Do what you need to do," Harvey gestured at the door again.

"T-thanks," Mike stuttered and ducked out of the room. He hurried sheepishly towards the elevators, and no one got in his way.

Donna didn't give the door to Harvey's office a chance to close all the way before she was up, catching the handle and looking at Harvey expectantly.

"I need Ray. And clear the afternoon, tell whatever ridiculous lie you need to," Harvey almost sagged into his chair, "Let me know when he's here."

Barely twenty minutes later, Donna's soft voice came over the intercom.

"Ray," was all she said. Harvey grabbed his coat off the standing rack in his office and strode out the door.

Donna's raised hand, one finger pointed out with a sticky note attached, stopped him.

"What's this?" He snatched the note, not comprehending why there was an address written in Donna's perfect script.

"The address of the care home, Harvey. Ray will need it for the GPS," Donna answered without looking away from her computer as she tapped out an urgent email to all the members of the firm Harvey had been scheduled to meet with later that day. One handed, of course.

"Thanks."

* * *

Mike tumbled into the back of a cab, his mind working so fast he could barely keep up with himself. He recited the address of his grandmother's care home numbly and the car moved away from the curb.

Mike hadn't noticed the scenery changing until the cab pulled to a stop in front of its destination. Feeling as though he were moving impossibly slowly, Mike pulled some bills from his wallet and stepped out of the cab into the biting air. Winter in New York City, and it was beginning to snow.

It was then that Mike realized he'd forgotten his coat.

No matter, he pulled his suit jacket tighter around him and fought the molasses around his legs all the way into the lobby. The desk nurse looked up at him and smiled. Then her brain caught up with her automatic reactions and she placed his face. Her smile faltered.

"Mr. Ross," she stood and reached to shake his hand, "I'm so sorry about your grandmother. She was an astounding woman."

"Thank you," Mike answered in a voice that sounded detached even to his own ears, "Can I see her, please?"

"Of course. Right this way," she led him down the hall to the elevator where she pressed a button that Mike had seen, registered, and never noted the connotation of before.

B for basement.

Basement for bodies.

He almost had to stuff his knuckles in his mouth to keep from laughing.

The elevator dinged to a stop and the doors slid open. The artificial lighting was even worse down here, with only small ground level windows to allow in natural light. The quiet nurse led Mike down the hall and into a room occupied by several gurneys, only one of which had an occupant.

"Would you like me to stay?" the nurse asked quietly, fingers brushing very slightly over Mike's arm. He flinched away from her touch.

"I- I'm sorry. No," Mike gulped as he turned away from the nurse to face the white sheeted figure on the gurney, "No, I can handle it from here."

"Dial zero on any phone you see if you need anything," she assured him softly, and slipped from the room. Mike didn't even hear her footsteps as she left. He wasn't sure if it was just her sneakers or years of practice leaving people in rooms like this.

It took Mike a few minutes to gather his courage enough to step forward and pull the sheet down from his grandmother's face.

Mike waited for the rush of tears, the emotional sock to the stomach, anything. Nothing ever came. It was truly, tritely cliché but she really did look asleep.

Mike reached up and stroked her hair.

"I love you, Grammy. I know that over the last year or so I've finally made you proud of me. Proud of who I am and what I've done, not just proud that I exist. I... I don't have the words to tell you how much I love you, or how much I'll miss you. And you'd say that's funny, Michael, because you've read the dictionary. And I have, but it's so far beyond that..." Mike trailed off, cupping her cheek in his hand. It was cold, almost rubbery. He put his fingers on her hair again.

"This isn't helping me. I... if you didn't know how much I needed you when you were alive, you can't know it now," Mike almost grunted, wondering the back of his mind when he'd gotten so cold-hearted.

He turned to leave, and then remembered. He moved back, reaching for the sheet, and found he couldn't bring himself to drag it back up over her face. Instead Mike leaned in, tucking the sheet tightly about her shoulders. He kissed her hairline, and rushed from the room.

The front desk nurse caught him on his way out.

"Mr. Ross," she called, reaching out halfway and then refraining from touching him.

"There's just a few forms," she informed him, looking embarrassed, "I hate to do this to you."

"No, no it's all right. I hadn't even thought," Mike began, and then stopped as the overwhelming idea of planning a funeral swamped him. The petite nurse seemed to read his mind.

"It's just release forms for her belongings, so we can pack them. You're welcome to come pick them up or we can ship them to you if you leave an address. And, Mike, she had a pre-need," she had clearly tacked on the last bit just hoping he would know what it meant.

It took him a minute, pen scribbling furiously as he checked boxes and signed his name.

"Do you have a card for the funeral home? I'd like to take a look at her plan before the implement it. I'm sure it'll be perfect, but..." Mike had lost his voice again, the picture of his grandmother sitting down in a funeral home to plan her own last hurrah hitting him hard.

"Of course," she pushed a small rectangle of card stock into his hands.

"Good night," Mike nodded vaguely, and headed for the doors. He shivered as he stepped outside, remembering his forgotten coat. Mike glanced around, but there wasn't a cab in sight. He tucked his jacket even closer around him and headed up the block.

"Mike!" A warm voice rang through the crisp air and Mike turned to see Harvey half out of the town car, bundled in a thick wool coat.

Mike blinked and Harvey was in front of him, throwing a coat over his shoulders. His coat, Mike noted with detached amazement.

"Come on," Harvey's arm snaked around his shoulders and steered him towards the car.

"Where'd you get my coat?" Mike asked once they were settled, and then added "Hey Ray. Thanks."

The driver just nodded, and Mike glanced at Harvey again.

"I wish I could say I'd remembered to grab it from your cubicle," Harvey replied, almost rueful, "But it's almost better this way."

"What way?" Mike prodded, finally putting his arms through the sleeves.

"You can never say anything," Harvey warned, and then laughed. Genuinely laughed, obviously replaying the moment in his head.

"Oh, no, wait. You can definitely say something. Louis chased me out of the building with it," Harvey chuckled and then fought to control his smile, "I'm sorry, that was inappropriate."

"He chased you?" Mike was incredulous, ignoring the laughter. He wasn't sure Louis was capable of moving any faster than a brisk walk.

"He was shouting. 'Harvey, Harvey wait!' Waving it over his head," Harvey let another bark of laughter escape and Mike was sure the small patches of color high on Harvey's cheekbones were not strictly from the cold.

"He was not."

"Oh, he was. It was like something out of a twisted harlequin novel," Harvey assured him.

"I wish I had seen it," Mike murmured, lacing and relacing his fingers in his lap. Harvey laid a hand over them to still the nervous movement, only withdrawing when Mike's twitches settled.

"I'm sure somebody took a cell video out a window."

They lapsed into silence after that, Mike staring out the window and Harvey peering at Mike.

"I'm not going to explode or fall apart or doing anything interesting," Mike pointed out finally, his neck creaking as he swiveled his head to look at Harvey.

"All right. Are you hungry?" Harvey queried and it occurred to Mike that perhaps they were driving aimlessly. He glanced out the window again and registered that they were in his neighborhood. He smiled a little; Harvey would never drive around aimlessly.

"No. I should probably eat something though," Mike mused as Ray effortlessly slid the town car to a stop outside his building.

"All right. Call it a night, Ray. I'll take a cab later," Harvey swung out the opposite door, stepping quickly to the curb.

"Good night Harvey, Mike," Ray nodded at each of them as Mike clambered out. Mike nodded back, and pushed the door shut gently. He watched the town car glide away, and jumped when Harvey laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Mike, c'mon. It's late," Harvey's voice was soft as he steered Mike towards the front door of his building. Mike's feet stumbled a little as he looked around, finally noticing it was dark out. How long had he stood staring before uncovering his grandmother?

Harvey was holding his door open, although Mike couldn't fathom where he'd gotten the keys. Coat pockets? Mike could swear they were in his messenger bag, which was still strapped securely around him.

Mike stepped inside and felt for the railing to pull himself up five flights to his apartment. It wasn't until he was inside, coat tossed on the kitchen counter, and Harvey asking him "Should I call for pizza or Chinese?" that the last teeth in the gears of Mike's brain met, bringing time back to normal for the first time since he hung up the phone.

Mike burst into tears. He couldn't help himself. It wasn't loud and wailing or anything like that. Just a small convulsive sob that wracked his entire frame, once, and then confined itself to his shoulders.

It had arrived. The emotional sucker punch he'd expected hours before.

There were long fingers in his hair, a muscular frame like a solid wall in front of him and a calming voice in his ear saying, "All right, Mike. All right. I think pizza, you might choke on rice."

Mike allowed Harvey to steer him into a seat on the couch, and he stayed there, wiping stray tears on the cuffs of his shirt. A few minutes later, a warm mug was pushed into his hands.

"Pizza's on its way," Harvey informed him, sinking into a seat with a mug of his own. Mike took a long sip before smelling his drink and had to swallow quickly.

"Is there bourbon in this?" he spluttered, eyeing his coffee with suspicion.

"Clearly," Harvey retorted like it was the most obvious thing in the world, "I wasn't going to drink your bathtub bourbon straight and coffee was the only thing available other than tap water I wouldn't drink without boiling anyway. I rolled with it."

"S'not even my bourbon," Mike grumbled, "Trevor left it here a million years ago."

"Well then, let's call this only good deed Trevor has ever done you," Harvey answered, raising his mug, "Cheers."

"Shut up, Harvey," Mike sighed, and drained his mug, "I'm going to bed."

"Okay, okay. I'll lay off Trevor for the night. The food will be here any minute and you need to eat," Harvey protested and Mike sank back into his seat.

"Why are you being so _nice?_ People might accuse you of caring," Mike almost snapped, crossing his arms over his chest. Harvey collected Mike's mug and got to his feet. He pushed the refilled drink into Mike's hands and sat down beside him again before answering.

"I am going to say this to you once, and if you _ever_ mention again that I said this to you, I will deny it. I will deny it on my death bed. I do care. You've had a very bad day, you need to come down a little bit, and you need to hear that. So, you heard it, right?" Harvey glanced up at Mike through his eyelashes and Mike felt the funny twinge in his chest that had been gnawing for months erupt into a roar.

He poured bourbon on it.

"I heard you," Mike acquiesced.

"Good," Harvey nodded curtly. The downstairs buzzer rang and Harvey rose to answer it.

A few minutes later and the strong scent of mushroom and onion pizza filled Mike's apartment. His stomach growled and Harvey hadn't gotten the door shut before Mike tore the box from his hands, crashed into the couch and ripped it open.

"Oh my god, Harvey," Mike gushed, lifting a slice, "_Stuffed crust._"

"You're welcome, cretin," Harvey smirked, the one that looked dangerously close to a grin, and dropped beside Mike again.

"You wanna plate?" Mike asked through a mouthful of pizza, "Might get grease on your suit."

Harvey looked down at himself, and then back up at Mike. Mike rolled his eyes.

"I know you're trying to be all cool, you know, no big deal, just a suit. It's bullshit. We both know if you get grease on that suit you will be furious. And Rene will kill you," Mike dropped a chunk of cheese into his mouth and got to his feet. He rummaged around the kitchen for a few minutes, mumbling about his secret stash of clean dishes for emergencies such as this, and then emerged with a clean ceramic plate.

And also the bottle of bourbon Harvey had left on the counter. Mike topped off his mug and then glanced at Harvey, who shook his head.

"Somebody has to make sure you make it to bed."

"Fair enough."

Twenty minutes later Mike was so gorged on pizza he didn't think he could move. It had settled over the bourbon and coffee in his stomach, soaking it up nicely. Harvey was munching on a piece of cold crust and surveying Mike's movie collection. Harvey had shed his jacket, tie, and button up while Mike had changed into sweats and a T. Harvey strolled around Mike's apartment in his untucked undershirt and trousers. Even his belt and shoes had been tossed onto Mike's armchair.

"Just pick something already so I can fall asleep and drool on your shoulder," Mike whined from the couch, tucking his feet up underneath him.

"Hush," Harvey waved a hand over his shoulder, "I'm deciding."

"Between?"

"_Holy Grail_ or _Blues Brothers_?"

"Belushi, for sure."

Harvey glanced over at him, something like appreciation in his eyes, and Mike's chest did that thing again. Harvey popped the disc in and, as it was loading, shut off every light in the apartment.

"What're you doing?" Mike tracked him around as the space grew dimmer and dimmer.

"I don't watch movies, I immerse myself," Harvey explained as he emerged from the dark.

Mike snorted.

"Of course you do."

Elwood was only just quitting his job at the glue factory as Mike tucked himself under Harvey's arm. He was amazed at how much _space_ Harvey had claimed in his apartment.

Harvey's clothes on his armchair.

Harvey's favorite pizza in the kitchen.

_Harvey_, on sprawled on his couch with his socked feet on the coffee table and Mike under his arm.

It was so... _domestic._

For a moment Mike was put out. Then Harvey quoted along with the movie and quirked his eyebrows in a _perfect_ Belushi and the roar expanded from Mike's chest to his ears.

Harvey felt Mike tense up and glanced down.

"Hey."

"Hmm?" Mike looked up at him, expansive blue eyes still red-rimmed. Harvey didn't say anything, he just studied Mike's face for a moment. When he was satisfied, he turned back to the movie. Mike wormed his arm around Harvey's waist.

Harvey's far arm slipped off the top of the couch as he yawned, his hand landing on his hip where Mike's fingers had curled.

Mike wanted to laugh out loud, it was _so _highschool. He didn't laugh, though, because it was working, which was probably why Harvey was employing it.

Nevertheless, Mike stroked his thumb across the back of Harvey's hand. That was all it took for Harvey to pull him in, two knuckles hooking under Mike's chin to tilt his lips up. It was a swift movement, but Harvey kissed him slow. Agonizingly slow, his lips barely moving as he savored just the pressure.

Mike pulled away just as slowly, his hands pushing lightly at Harvey's chest.

"Don't do that," Mike murmured, shaking his head, "Don't kiss me out of consolation."

"Mike," Harvey looked at him levelly, "I'm not. But you've had a long day and a fair bit to drink and I didn't want to take advantage of the situation. I did have to kiss you, though."

Mike lost himself in it, grazing his lips up Harvey's neck to nip at his earlobe before searching out his lips again. Harvey made a short, impatient noise and drew him in, shifting them until Mike was perched his lap, twisted at the hips, hands cupping the sides of Harvey's jaw.

Harvey pulled back just slightly, brushing a kiss over Mike's brow before tucking his tousled head under his chin, fingers in Mike's hair. Mike stilled, let himself be held for a long moment.

"I'm sad, but I'm not doing this because I'm sad," he breathed finally, kissing the hollow of Harvey's throat.

"I know," Harvey resettled his grip, pushed his lips into the top of Mike's head, "But I think you should sleep now. We'll talk about it in the morning."

Mike wanted to argue, but Harvey's skin was so warm and his eyelids were so heavy. He mumbled something that felt like agreement into Harvey's collarbone. Two minutes later he was snoring lightly. One corner of Harvey's mouth turned upwards and he gathered Mike up, lifting him easily. Streetlights glowed dimly through the windows, and that combined with the blue light from the television guided Harvey to Mike's room. He placed Mike carefully, arranging wayward limbs and pulling an afghan up over Mike's shoulders. As he turned to leave, bony fingers clamped around his wrist.

Mike didn't stir, didn't say anything, he just hung on, clinging too tightly in his sleep. His grip relented only when Harvey slid down beside him, prying the fingers from his arm so he could drape it across Mike's stomach.


End file.
